What You'll Never Know
by Uriel Falcon
Summary: I finally learned that if I hurt, no one would hurt me. Beginning of a series, femmeslash. Mature Subject matter and darkness abundant. Part nine up.
1. Chapter 1

What You'll Never Know

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI. This is the beginning of a series that won't be up for a while. a preview, if you will. CONTAINS FEMMESLASH AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER.

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They say that time heals all wounds, that all addictions can be overcome, and that your friends will always help you.

I wish that were true.

Unfortunately, I can disprove all of those sayings, shoving whatever semi-logical bullshit they spew back down their 'straight and narrow' throats. I can even remember times where I've thought the same things as these people do, only to have my very world implode around me. After thirty-five years of life, I can say that it's over.

Young, you say? Hardly.

If you think I mean my death, you're mistaken. I died long ago... I believe I choked on my own screams. You see, my family life wasn't like the lives of these people who speak of clichés or happy endings. I was beaten, raped, and oppressed every waking moment of my pathetic excuse for a childhood. Heh, but why should I complain? Many other people suffer the same fate... What makes me different?

My mother murdered my father.

That was the day I died. The blood had gushed from his wounds like a misdirected hose, colouring the yellow, nicotine-stained walls into a deep, speckled red. I think I remember crying out to God... Needless to say, it did nothing for me. The part of the story that you were never supposed to know was when she turned on me. They seem to forget that part. Especially considering that I had died. The officers arrived just in time to watch my eyes roll into the back of my head... That's probably why the young officer threw up so violently... A bloody little girl, eyes wide as saucers with no apparent pupils. Just a grey, hazy mess.

The rest is black.

I remember nothing... Just a blackness that consumed the very depths of my heart, shrouding the corners of my vision and nipping at my heels as I trudged through the next six years of my life. Being nineteen is hard enough. Being nineteen with an incredible I.Q, no social skills, and a terrible secret is worse. But why am I complaining? This happens to many teens. They can't interact with others, so they lash out or withdraw. Everyone has some sort of secret... But the part that you were never supposed to know was the life I truly lead...

I have a son.

No, I've never been pregnant, but I do have a son. During High school, I went through a very amorous phase. I found that I could love, or what I thought was love... I was living with a few of my friends at the time. The best friends of my life, really. That's when I fell in love with her... Her name was Celeste, and I was with her from my seventeenth year to my twenty-fourth year. When I was nineteen, she asked me if I would have a child with her. Using my egg, her brother's sperm, and the method of gestational surrogacy, she became pregnant with my child.

I loved that kid, even before he was born.

Alas, there was a problem. Because she wanted a child, she wouldn't be able to go to university for her chiropractic study. And she was good; she could fix my almost-destroyed back with a few movements of her hand. I knew what I had to do for her, and honestly I think I would do it again. I told her that I didn't have enough money for university, but I would be back soon enough. I would be back to raise our child.

I went to war.

Oh, the horrors of war. I can't even place a name to the area I went to with my squad. I'll never forget what we had to do, what I was forced to do to survive. We lived off of the scraps that we could hunt or get a hold of, praying that the enemy wouldn't find us as we huddled in fox holes or under the cover of the bushes. We killed. I killed.

Only three of us survived.

When I returned home nine months later, I saw my son for the first time. He was so beautiful, serene, and completely innocent. He had dark, curly brown hair with beautiful green eyes and the little gap between the front teeth. He was all of those things, but more importantly, he was ours. I hadn't earned enough money... I was twenty. I was going through university; I was eventually bumped up a few levels in my courses, finishing my courses much earlier than anyone else.

Despite what my love told me, I went back to war.

More horrors awaited me. This time, only I survived. I have scars to remind me of every mistake, every incident that awaited me just outside of my vision. Not to mention the terror I still felt over my father's wretched demise. I broke bones, I tore flesh, I was shot, and I was thrown from a moving vehicle. The feeling of absolute solitude was finally getting to me, for I longed to go home to my family.

After two years of being alone, I finally returned home.

I loved my family with everything I had, making sure that they both would never have to worry about anything again. But even as I tried and tried, the nightmares wouldn't stop, and finally my Celeste caught on. I had never spoken of my family or of what happened. And finally, I had to tell her.

The next morning she was gone, and she took my son, Raphael, with her.

She left a note saying that she would not let that happen to her son and that I should rot in hell with the rest of my family. Years later, I still have that note. I couldn't believe that she left me, that she thought I would be violent.

She teamed up with war to turn me into the monster I am.

I changed. I'm surprised that no one ever turned me in. I guess they thought that they couldn't escape because I was a criminalist. I was heavy into intravenous drugs, hash, anything that could make me forget. And because of it, I became abusive. Nobody at work noticed my habits because of the fact I was smart about the injections. I did it where they would never see... You can use your imaginations on that one. I finally realized that if I hurt, no one would hurt me.

Of course, I was wrong again.

I was called to Vegas. Luckily, because of my lack of social skills, I was able to kick my drug habit very quickly. I even quit smoking, and faked that I already had. I met my team, which I worked with for the next six years of life. I pursued Gil Grissom, a man even more socially inept than myself. That didn't work out well. Luckily, I switched from abusing my partners to simply fucking the most available thing.

Now I know I will pay for my life.

Today, I am going in to work. There's a domestic abuse case that we all need to discuss. I feel strongly about who the murderers are. And no one believes me. I can't even tell them why I know what I do, because they'll just ask more questions. If I kill someone, this will be the final testament as to why. Just remember... You were never supposed to know this.

Sincerely,

Sara Sidle, Murderer.


	2. Chapter 2

**What You'll Never Know**

WARNING:  
WARNING:  
WARNING:

DARK. REALLY DARK. It will lighten up a little bit later, but I really doubt it. I started this about three months ago, a little idea popping into my brain that probably is invading every fic I do... If suggestive themes and graphic details bother you, don't read this.

Rating: NC-17 and beyond

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and don't claim to.  
Archiving:?  
Author: Uriel Falcon  
Pairing: C/S Eventually, I promise.

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I hate work. Did I mention that I hate work? I hate work. People always say I'm a workaholic, that the lab is my first home. Well, I'm here to prove them all wrong. Work is not my first home. Come to think of it, my home is not my first home. My car is.

Yeah, that's right, my car. I feel comfortable in my Chrysler 300C. Sure, it was expensive, but with the comfort and safety I feel when I drive for hours and hours on end, it's paid for itself. Plus, I keep it clean and tidy and upgrade it more and more every year. The custom metallic green paint, the gold accents… I could spend hours rambling about it. But I won't.

I'm getting out of my car and locking my door when I spot the woman of my currently uninfected dreams. Of course, not only is she the woman of my fantasies, she's the utter bane of my newer existence. She hates me, I love her. Oh what a fancy cycle… I don't even have to speak her name for you to know who she is. But I suppose I might as well. Catherine Willows, I do love you, but forever in the shadows will I remain hiding from your light.

I'm a friggin' sap. I guess all these years of torturing myself then suddenly having a semi-stable life is turning my guts into mush. I'm sure Doc Robbins would have a field day examining my heart. There's a rock-hard crust on the outside and a strange grey, mushy mess on the inside that seems to leak out of my veins. Oh yes, it's a very appealing image…

I shake myself out of my thoughts and grab my backpack, slinging the old thing over my shoulder and closing my car door, locking it with my remote. I take a glance at myself in the reflection of my windows. My dark hair only has one wave today, and lucky for me it's covering that nice shiner I have on my temple from banging my head on the coffee table last night after attempting to fix the leg.

That's what I get for buying shitty Ikea furniture. I should probably set up the coffee table that I made when I was in shop class all those years ago. I've been lugging that old oak thing around for years, so I might as well use it. But of course, I'm rambling again. I've been having an issue with that lately. Mumbling to myself about human nature and such things has earned me a few wary looks from my co-workers. Well, except for Catherine, of course, who I steer clear of. If you love them, let them go.

After adjusting my dark green muscle shirt and making sure the fly on my old Levis is zipped up, I head over towards the large door to the lab. Oh shit. Catherine is coming up around the same time I am. I may have to say something or make eye-contact. Good, I'm getting there first because of my long legs.

Oh, shoot, she's just a step behind. I have to hold the door, maybe smile. I enter first and turn around, holding open the door for her. She smiles and nods thanks before continuing on. Well, I guess that counts as a 'good morning' in the 'I really hate you' category. At least she didn't sneer or something of the like… But then again, that's really not her style. She's too classy for that.

I follow her into the building, all the while totally not checking out her ass. Okay, so maybe I took a glance… No, scratch that, I think I stared. I better check my lip for drool. We both turn into the locker room, where I turn right immediately and open my locker. After tucking away my backpack and adjusting my weapon holster, I'm ready for a long day.

I should probably grab my notepad; it'll give me something to scribble on while Ecklie yells at me for being 'insubordinate' or 'emotionally involved'. Pfft, whatever. It's not just me who gets involved. Everyone does. But it seems like when I do, a problem suddenly arises. No one is there offering comfort to me if I'm having a bad case. No one's there to pick up the pieces. Depressing? No. Pathetic? Probably.

After grabbing my said notepad, I turn to leave. Just as I do, however, I get the feeling I'm being watched. The hair on the back of my neck rises and I feel my old training kicking in. I almost feel like I should turn around and shoot. As I glance over my shoulder, I catch her eyes.

That's another thing that sort of grates on my nerves. She stares at me and most likely judges me. I don't change in public, so I'm pretty sure she's never seen my scars. I've never told anyone anything about me, so I don't really think she knows. That endlessly blue gaze still makes me feel like I'm nothing though.

I shy away from her gaze, for the intensity feels like it's going to melt me. I start walking to the door when I feel her hot hand on my frozen flesh. I feel like I'm burning, a vampire being kissed by holy water. I don't want to face her; but I do anyway. Her eyes are filled with something I've never seen directed at me; worry and sympathy.

And for a split second, I'm almost angry. Why does she pity me? We handle the same cases; we see the same grizzly things every day. Does she see my pain, my life, and my issues? Then, I feel guilty for being angry with her. I can't control these raging emotions. So instead, I opt to smile gently, trying all the while to ignore how much I'm enjoying her hand on my arm.

"Hey." Pfft, real smooth, dumbass! I'm already berating myself for my soft hello. She's looking at me concerned and possibly not hating me and all I can say is 'hey'. I feel like someone performed a lobotomy on me, using only a straw and some toothpicks.

"Sara, I know we really haven't been on the best of terms, but I'm sort of worried about you. I know that these cases get to you and I think you're on to something. Tell me what your thinking and I'll back you up in the meeting," Catherine offers. I may be cold, but I'm not stupid. There's no way I'm going to pass her up on this offer. I sigh and sit on the bench, running a hand through my hair.

"Thank you… No one seems to believe me, so it's glad to have you on my side. I know this is going to sound very far-fetched, but I know what happened in that house.

"That bag of oranges we found near the front door wasn't just a bag of oranges. They were all bruised up on the sides, and I found a metal ball in the middle of the oranges. None of the people in that house eat oranges, because if they did they wouldn't be lacking in their vitamins so badly. That bag was used to hit without making a mark." I pause for a minute, consulting my mental notes without mixing it up with my family.

"The daughter didn't commit suicide in the bathtub. I had Hodges test the water and compare it to the samples that were left over in each area. The water in the tub did not match the water in Audrey's lungs. The water left in the kitchen sink, however, did.

"After autopsy, Doc called me back to show me something. The bruising around her neck started to show up. She has bruises that look like fingerprints. I took some photos and put them in the case folder. The hands were huge, Cath. At least a size bigger than mine, and I've got some pretty big paws." She cracks a smile at me for that one. I do have fairly large palms and fingers, but lucky for me no one has really noticed. I fiddle with my thumbs and continue.

"Honestly, we're just waiting for the DNA results on the hair samples and skin off of the orange bag, the knife and the Colt. Fingerprints were all smudged but I already think I know who it was. Those two were working together… And the blood sample will show exactly how much acid was banging around in their blood while they did it."

"I found a huge stash of miscellaneous paraphernalia underneath their bed. I also found blood, semen, and what I would classify as 'other' stains ON the bed. There were also stains on all of the slippers, belts, buckles and bed corners in the room… With all of that, you can piece it together," I'm done with my explanation. There's no way that I can continue to explain to her without meddling it up because of my nerves. Just her presence is making me nervous, almost afraid to let something out.

"Damn… That's some heavy evidence… The question is, who would we be able to nail for this? If both of them did it…" She poses a good question. A question that I believe I have the answer for.

"It all depends on where the epithelial are found. There's no way that the uncle was there, simply because he has an alibi. He was in Texas, so obviously he couldn't have made it here. Once the jury hears that, the only other person in that house who has that size of hands would be Mr. Redden. If we're lucky, we can nail Mrs. Redden with all of the abuse that went on.

"Audrey has bruises dating back three years that are still under the skin. I can tell you from personal experience that the only thing that ever made me have a bruise for three years was being run over by a jeep, twice." Well, it is a true fact. Of course, I'm not going to tell her WHY or HOW I was run over by a jeep… I'm interrupted from my thoughts by both of our pagers going off. It's a message from Ecklie saying the meeting is starting.

"Well, time to face the firing squad…" I mumble, standing up and adjusting my jeans again. These Levis are the most comfortable thing I have, so I made sure I had them on today, as I'll most likely be attacked for the lack of reasoning behind my theories. But maybe it'll be different because Catherine will back me up. If she does, that is.

I feel like I'm being watched again as I walk towards the door.

"Hey, Sara… Have you always had those jeans? I mean, I just… I don't remember seeing you wear them. They look nice…" What the fuck? Catherine… is noticing my jeans? I check myself over once to see if there are any obscene holes or stains. Nope, nothing unusual except for a few oil stains on the side and rips on my pockets. I'm fairly hard on my jeans.

"Yeah, I've had them for a long time, probably more than 10 years… I've worn them a few times, but I don't know if you were around or not." Like hell I didn't know if she was around. I always know when she's around.

"Hmm… Geez and I call myself a CSI… Well, let's get going," and with that, she practically floats out of the locker room. I follow her, albeit without floating. I'm not looking forward to this. It's one of those days where I wish I had just gotten violently ill and couldn't make it in.

As I approach the meeting room, I put on a steely face. I can't let this beat me. But does it ever feel like I'm walking to my own death.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**What You'll Never Know**

WARNING:  
WARNING:  
WARNING:

DARK. REALLY DARK. It will lighten up a little bit later, but I really doubt it. I started this about three months ago, a little idea popping into my brain that probably is invading every fic I do... If suggestive themes and graphic details bother you, don't read this.

Rating: NC-17 and beyond

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and don't claim to.  
Archiving:?  
Author: Uriel Falcon  
Pairing: C/S Eventually, I promise.

* * *

As I walk into the room I realize that this is going to be a serious battle. The table is square, with everyone seated on the other side of the table, away from me. I sit down and feel like I'm on the other side of prison glass, staring at judges and advocates as they decide my fate. Even as Catherine sits down beside me, I still feel as though this is my last day.

"Sidle… Catherine, nice of you to show up," Ecklie starts, sending a glare my way. Oh, very nice. What a lovely way of alienating me by last name status. Fuck him.

"Let's get started, shall we?" Grissom intervenes. He probably can feel my anger radiating over the table. Well, I hate to tell you this, but I'm pissed at you too, Gris. In fact, I'm pissed at them all. Every time I entered a piece of evidence, they would question its significance like I wasn't even there.

"I found…" And that's where I tune out, listening to the evidence. It all points to the parents. Epithelial matter, fingerprints, blood spatter, change of clothing, water evidence… And yet they question it.

"Well, the uncle could have-" I'm not even going to let that crap fly from Warrick's mouth.

"Plane tickets prove he was in Texas at the time," I state casually, flipping open the folder and producing the tickets. Warrick looks them over for a minute before deciding that they're real.

"Alright, scratch out the uncle." Score one for me. I see Nick shuffling around in his notes.

"The Doc couldn't figure out what caused these large circular bruises that appeared post mortem…" I'm about to state what happened when Catherine pulls out a picture of the orange bag containing the hidden metal ball.

"She was beaten with this orange bag; the epithelials on either area prove it. We're waiting on the results." Wow, holy shit, she's actually helping me! I would dance if I knew how. Wait, scratch that. I would dance if it wouldn't look weird on an evidence table…

"Ouch." Smooth, Nicky, smooth. At least they're finally listening to the evidence. Ecklie shuffles through the notes before glaring at me.

"Either way, the victim was found face down in the tub. She either drowned or killed herself-" Not on my watch.

"The water in the tub was not a match to the water in Audrey's lungs; I had Hodges do the comparison. Audrey was drowned in the sink. Fingerprint bruising appeared on her neck post-mortem. The size of the hand is at least a size bigger than Nick's hands," I explain, once again producing a comparison report on the water. Ecklie snaps back at me almost immediately.

"Don't interrupt me, Sidle. You're on thin ice as it is." Oh, I'm terrified. So terrified that I'll just break down and urinate. Fuck you, buddy. I choose not to respond, instead I point at the result.

"She was held face down in the sink. That's a homicide," I state in a brutally calm voice. Grissom is eyeing me as I lean back in my seat. I hate it when he does that. Observing and judging like I'm not watching him. Too bad he doesn't know that I can read him. Using my senses I adapt and learn my surroundings.

Like the way Nick is constantly shuffling his paper. He doesn't want to believe that two parents would kill their daughter so brutally. Deep down he knows the truth, but the pain of admitting it is difficult.

Warrick keeps shuffling two coins around each other like they were poker chips. He's wrestling with his thoughts, gambling in his mind about what to say or do. The shuffling of the coins relaxes him into a state where he can think.

Grissom is hard to read. He is completely still, the only sign of life being his steady breathing and his shining eyes. He watches his group, wondering if their hot tempers or broken thoughts will erupt.

Ecklie glares and snubs his nose, hoping that I'll snap. He wants nothing more than to punish me for my former insubordination and my tendency to take my team's side. Too bad for him, but I will never betray them, even if they betray me. I feel like a sergeant again.

"I'm aware of the definition of a homicide, Sidle. The evidence is circumstantial. The DA will not file," Ecklie snuffs, tossing his pen down on the table. Like hell they won't file.

"Then we'll just have to wait for the DNA evidence," Catherine interjects, organizing the folder again. Ecklie gives her a strange look before obviously getting angry.

"You shouldn't associate with such a low form of life, Catherine. You can't let Sidle's tendencies rub off on you; you'll end up in a bad position." What the fuck is he talking about?

"Low form of life? What the hell are you talking about Ecklie, she-" Warrick is cut off by Ecklie.

"Sidle, keep your wild opinions away from the team, your obviously affecting their judgment." Oh, he is not getting away with this.

"Affecting their judgment? The evidence points to the parents! Mrs. Redden beat the shit out of her daughter after getting her ass kicked by Mr. Redden! The father then grabbed Audrey, yanked out some of her hair, shoved her face in the dishwater and drowned the girl because he was high on acid! What's there to be judged?!" I yell as I slam my hands down on the table, standing up so fast that my chair hits the ground. Ecklie stands as well, looking like a tomato.

"Sit down, Sidle! Your opinions are not welcomed-"

"Shut up, Ecklie! The only opinions that aren't welcomed here are YOUR ass-kissing political crap! The only low form of life here is you!" I cut him off again. I can't take this anymore. I'm berated in front of my own team, constantly, without any defense. I was better off in the army leading my angry team towards a battle we shouldn't have been a part of.

_**SARA SIDLE, YOU HAVE A VISITOR AT THE FRONT DESK.**_

_**REPEAT, SARA SIDLE, YOU HAVE A VISITOR AT THE FRONT DESK. **_

"Oh look, you have a visitor. Guess you aren't such a loner after all," Ecklie sneers at me. Normally I would send an insult his way, but I'm more baffled as to who could be visiting me. All my friends are in San Francisco, and even then they really aren't in contact with me. I walk out of the room without a word, turning towards the front lobby.

As I approach, I feel my stomach tighten and my heart stop.

Celeste.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**What You'll Never Know**

WARNING:  
WARNING:  
WARNING:

DARK. REALLY DARK. It will lighten up a little bit later, but I really doubt it. I started this about three months ago, a little idea popping into my brain that probably is invading every fic I do... If suggestive themes and graphic details bother you, don't read this.

Rating: NC-17 and beyond

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and don't claim to.  
Archiving:?   
Author: Uriel Falcon  
Pairing: C/S Eventually, I promise.

THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK!

Time seems to have ground to a halt. Every breath I take seems loud and much too slow to be normal. I hope I'm not hyperventilating, but it doesn't feel as though I'm panicking. Yet. Just seeing her is painful. Those shining green eyes haunt my dreams alongside my other nightmares. I wish I had never told her anything at all. Maybe we could have still been happy.

The maybe factor is so low that even I know that I'm lying to myself.

She spots me, turning her head so fast that her blonde locks make a ring around her perfectly freckled face. Her lips are still rosy and full, but her cheeks have sunken in. She's lost the pure innocence that always made me think of her as a young princess.

I think it's my fault; I tend to suck the very life out of people.

I see her look me over; I haven't really changed very much, save for a few wounds that have healed over and perhaps a little less rough around the edges. When she gets to my face she looks away quickly, as if she's ashamed of me. So many people are ashamed of me; it's almost depressing.

I walk towards her, my normal stride of a quick criminalist degraded to the steps of an insecure teenager. I don't want to face her; she took my world away. I have no more time to think because my feet have brought me there already.

"Celeste," I say, keeping at least a foot away from her. My former love stares up at me like she used to, almost with a sense of admiration. But instead of holding my gaze, she collapses into me, crying gently. For a second I'm stunned; but then I realize that even though she's taken my world away from me, she still needs me. My weakness is that I care too much.

I speak a few nonsensical nothings of the calming nature into her ear until she calms down enough to look up. Her eyes are still brimming with tears and for a minute I feel safe again, holding my love. But she's not my love anymore. I have to remind myself of that.

"I…I'm sorry for showing up like this…but… I need your help, Sara," Celeste speaks. Her voice is cracked, but it still sounds as serene as her name. I gently brush away a tear on her face with my thumb and I'm once again caught in the past softness of my former life.

"Let's go talk outside…" I lead her towards the door, an arm around her shoulder. I wave to Judy as I pass; she's a fairly good receptionist, we often joke about the size and shape of Ecklie's head. I hold open the door for Celeste and follow her through. Outside the doors I lead her towards a bench and sit her down.

"What's wrong?" I figure if I keep to the problem at hand I won't have to deal with the past.

"I can't do this anymore, Sara. I can't keep looking into my son's eyes and feel the overwhelming guilt of leaving you. I can't do this to him, and I can't do this to you. I need to get away for a little while; I need you to take care of Raphael for a while." Woah, what the fuck? Guilt? Get away for a while? She can't abandon him, especially not with a monster like me!

"Celeste… You said it yourself, I'm an animal. I can't take care of him-"

"You can do it better than I can right now. Please, Sara, just this once, and only for a little while! I just… I have to come to terms with some things… I have to go to detox," she cuts me off and I'm floored. I grab her arm and twist it towards me, sliding up the sleeve easily. Tracks.

"What the hell are you doing? Is this what the child support is buying? Does he see any of it or have I been supporting a habit?" I stand up angrily, pulling her towards me fast. She's not going to run, I need answers.

"No, Sara, you don't understand, it's not my fault! It just, happened… And no, you didn't buy it. Raphael is very well taken care of. Please, I just need your help! I can't take care of him right now, not like this!" Of course not, fucking bitch, shooting up around my son! Who the hell does she think she… Oh wait. She's his mother. And it's my fault. Absent 'father' and all.

"Celeste, I don't know what to tell you. I work wild night shifts; I've never really raised a child. The only time I had with him was his early years and even then I was at war. He's thirteen years old now. How am I supposed to give a child love when I'm incapable of it? And does he even know who I am?" Oh, check mate. She probably never told him of how he was conceived or who his biological 'father' was.

"He knows who you are; he's seen pictures of you. I've explained everything; he understands. Raphael is a good kid, Sara. He'll be okay with you… I'm sorry it ended the way it did, but it's about time you stepped in as a real parent." Ouch. The truth stings. I let her go and back up, running my hands through my scruffy hair.

"If I remember correctly, I was being a parent until you deemed me a monster. I was providing, I was even giving what I thought was love. I don't know how to do this; I'm not even out at work. How am I supposed to explain that I have a son that I haven't seen in ten years?" I'm not good at this 'sharing' thing. It's hard for me. Celeste stares at me with those sharp green eyes again until I feel like I'm back in 1994.

"Maybe it'll be easier to decide when you see him. I need you to do this, Sara." She needs me to do this. To do this. She needs me. Who am I to deny her treatment? Who am I to turn away my own child for selfish needs? I could survive off of my friggin' military pension if I truly needed to; and that doesn't even including my savings.

"I'll do it… Go get clean, Celeste." I've made up my mind. I can do this. She looks at me again, this time with a tearful smile. With a tight hug, she says goodbye and walks to her car. She's shuffling around for a little while before I finally see a sight for sore eyes.

There stands my son, Raphael. His hair is like mine, although cut short. His green eyes are shimmering brightly above his freckled cheeks. He has my smile, my nose, my hair and my jaw. The only sign of Celeste is in his eyes and his cheeks. He's holding two duffel bags and has a backpack; she prepared him. I guess there was really no choice. I watch as she kisses him goodbye, saying something along the lines of 'I love you and I'll be back soon' before pointing towards me.

My heart is thudding in my chest again.

I have my son back.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**What You'll Never Know**

WARNING:  
WARNING:  
WARNING:

DARK. REALLY DARK. It will lighten up a little bit later, but I really doubt it. I started this about three months ago, a little idea popping into my brain that probably is invading every fic I do... If suggestive themes and graphic details bother you, don't read this.

Rating: NC-17 and beyond

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and don't claim to.  
Archiving:?  
Author: Uriel Falcon  
Pairing: C/S Eventually, I promise.

THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK!

* * *

Okay, so let's recap, shall we? I come to work expecting to get fired. No biggie there; my career choice is morbid enough for people to need me somewhere, even if it's not here. A woman I thought hated my guts backs me up at the meeting I was expecting to get fired at. Well, hell has been chilly this year, so I suppose that's not a big stretch.

Then, the former love of my life shows up, tells me she's a drug addict and basically forces me to accept the son I couldn't help raise into my shitty life. Now that's a shock, but not necessarily a bad one. I'm staring at my son with a smile on my face. He's a handsome guy; probably sprouting up like I did. By the time I was twelve, I was five-foot-nine and skinny as a twig.

Raphael is lucky that he has a bit of his mother's build. He's tall for a thirteen year old, around five-foot-seven, and has a perfect amount of mass to go with it. He can back up his words, if it ever comes down to it. Not that I never could; I can still hold a two-hundred and fifty pound man on my shoulders and jog.

Anyway, back to my son, who is beginning to walk towards me with his two duffle bags and his back pack. His eyes are green, as I've said before, and his cheeks are dotted with freckles, though not too many. Raphael has his hair cut short like that Brad Pitt fellow and he's kept it the same colour as mine. He's wearing an Evanescence band T-shirt and a pair of Levis. Geez, the boy is after my own heart. I walk towards him and take his duffle bags with a smile. What am I going to say?

"Thanks Dad! I can call you that, right?" Holy shit this kid is awesome!

"Uh, yeah, sure… No problem, uh….son…." Eww, I sound like a friggin' nerd. Raphael laughs; I already love his smile and the gap between his front teeth.

"Don't worry about the nervousness, Dad, it'll go away soon. Mom told me all about you! Like how you work at a crime lab and how you love cars. I love cars too, I have so many model cars it's unreal!" Oh. My. God. This is going to be smooth sailing, save for my job.

"Cars, eh? Well, that means I'll just have to take you driving one of these days. But first, I have to go explain a few things to my co-workers… They're not exactly up-to-date on my private life, and I really just want to get you settled in today," I explain, walking towards my car. I can tell Raphael loves it; his eyes look like they did when I came home for his third Christmas.

"Is that your car?" He asks with a giant grin on his face. I smile and nodded, opening up the trunk and packing his things in beside my emergency kit. I can already tell he'll want me to take him driving at high speeds. No objections on this side of the fence! I turn and lead him towards HQ after slamming my trunk and locking it up again. When we make it to the doors, I suddenly realize what I'm going to have to say. Shit.

"I take it they don't know a lot about you, huh, Dad?" Raphael asks calmly. I shake my head and nervously laugh.

"Other then my lab tech friends, I only think one other person knows my birthday, and that's because he has my resume." I have to admit, that's kind of depressing. And slightly awkward, considering the said person sends me plants. You know those leafy things that tend to overtake corners and spill dirt onto a previously clean floor? Yeah, plants.

"I'll help you out. People tend to be too shocked to say anything nasty if a kid is blunt about it. Be blunt; they'll never know what hit them." My son makes a fairly good point. It worked when I said I left Brenda in the car. Frig, that was funny! I've never seen a group of people so stunned before. Dry humour is lovely…

"Alright, I think I'll try that... Hey, what do I call you? I mean, other than your name?" Better get the nickname thing out of the way early. Raphael laughs.

"Everyone calls me Scrat, because of the Ice Age movie. Before that, they called me Raph or Raphy, whichever came out first." Eww, Raphy? Who the fuck makes a nickname like that? Oh right. My ex-almost-wife.

"You know, I think it'll either be Scrat or Raphael. I think you've outgrown the other two, my boy." No shit he's outgrown the other two, that's baby talk damnit. I better stop mentally swearing; otherwise it might come out at an inopportune time. We walk through the front doors and I wave to Judy on the way by. She gives me a little look; but instead of being surprised, she looks happy. Right, similarities between 'father' and son. Geez, this is going to be awkward.

Down the hallway I spot Jacqui. PERFECT.

"Hey, Jacqui! Are you busy right now?" Please, please let her be on a break. Jacqui flashes me a grin when she sees Raphael.

"Nope, you want me to keep him entertained for a while?" I nod my head and tell Raphael to stick with Jacqui for a few minutes. The last thing I hear as I round the corner to the meeting room is, 'Hey, do you like watching things blow up?'. She better not be teaching him how to make a mortar. That's my job.

I step into the meeting room and almost laugh at the tension. Nick, Warrick, Grissom, Greg, and Catherine are all glaring at Ecklie. The said weasel looks like he just urinated. He scowls at me before pulling back his lips and attempting a barb.

"Finally. Can we finish this?" Oh yeah, time to be blunt. This bastard deserves it.

"Actually, I can't," I start, watching my friends' faces slip into a confused state. "I'm taking my son out for a car ride; I need to get him settled into Vegas." As I finish my sentence, I'm met with a room full of open jaws and wide eyes.

"Your….What?" Grissom asks slowly, taking off his glasses.

"My son. And, if there's nothing else to be said here, I'll be leaving." Catherine looks like she's about to have a coronary.

"You have a son?" Geez, you don't have to sound so incredulous, you know. I am capable of fucking and making decisions, so therefore I'm capable of having a child. Then again, none of them would even be able to fathom a clue at this point, so I might as well use up my dry humour.

"Yup, his name is Raphael." Greg looks up at me for a moment before looking slightly hurt.

"How come we never knew?" Hmm, good question. One which I have an answer for.

"Well, one, you never asked. And two," I wonder if I really should say this. Hmm, too late to stop now. "When is my birthday? Grissom, don't answer, because I know you have my file."

And once again, I'm met with baffled faces and slightly shamed expressions.

"My point exactly. See ya," I call over my shoulder to hide my tiny bit of hurt. Just as I'm leaving I hear a quiet voice mumble 'September 16th'. I'm pretty sure it was Catherine.

Too late now, I'm already down the hallway.

When I get back into Jacqui's fingerprint lab, I stop just to laugh. They're playing Halo; I have to admit, even though I'm a playstation woman myself, Halo kicks ass.

"I hate to break this up, but we're heading out now. Thanks Jacqui," I say as the two whine at me before laughing and shutting off the game. Raphael walks over to me and we head out the doors, ready for a speedy car ride. I feel like I'm being watched again; those big blue sapphires are already burning into my brain and I'm not even trying to sense it. When Raphael and I make it out into the parking lot, he bolts for the car, practically bouncing up and down near the passenger seat. I grin and unlock the car, motioning for him to hop in.

"Oh cool! This thing is customized and everything!" I hear him exclaim. I get into the driver seat and buckle up, noticing that he already has. Geez, she's got him well whipped. That's good though; less trouble for me. Just for show, I peel out of the lot, earning a great big grin from my son.

"So, what grade are you in?" I ask casually, shifting gears and breaking onto the main road. Raphael smiles and I know immediately that I'm going to hear something impressive.

"I'm supposed to be in grade seven, but they bumped me up to grade ten." Shit, this kid is my clone. I chuckle slightly.

"You're just like me then; I graduated when I was sixteen. You don't get teased or anything for it, do you?" I ask carefully, making sure I'm not hitting a rough spot. Luckily, he shakes his head.

"Nope, I actually have a lot of friends. I teach them cool tricks with different science formulas and sometimes we even get enough time to blow off rockets." Oh yeah, he'll definitely love me for showing him how to make a mortar.

"Good. If you're lucky, we'll have time for me to show you how to make a mortar," I laugh, turning another corner. His eyes start sparkling again.

"Really? That'd be awesome!" He answers before resuming inspecting my car. He really likes the dusty gold interior and the green accents; it's pretty much the opposite of the outside. Raphael traces his fingers along the engraved word 'Sidle' that I have on my dash above the glove box.

Did she let him keep my last name, or is his last name Viscount? I'd ask if I wasn't afraid of getting into why I left. I'm still not clear on what she has or hasn't told him, and I don't want to open up a can of worms that doesn't need to be opened.

"Hey, Dad," Raphael starts, turning towards me with a questioning look on his face. Uh-oh, this might not be good.

"Yeah?" Good thing I have a calm voice, otherwise it would have cracked then.

"Do you still love mom?" Do I love Celeste? I don't think so, at least not anymore. I love Catherine, even if she hates me. But what do I say to him? I can't make him feel like he can't talk about his mom.

"Not anymore. I used to before we had a falling out. I still care about her, though." Hopefully that appeases him, because I honestly have no other way of explaining it to him right now. Raphael gets a strange look on his face before opening his mouth again.

"Did mom make you leave because of me?" Oh no, he feels guilty! Damn my stupidity! Damn my fears and my audacity of leaving without a fight! Damn my parents for making me this way! Damn myself.

"Not at all, Raphael. It… It's hard to explain, but at the time it was better if I left." Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. I'll never know.

After all, I'll only live once.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**What You'll Never Know**

WARNING:  
WARNING:  
WARNING:

DARK. REALLY DARK. It will lighten up a little bit later, but I really doubt it. I started this about three months ago, a little idea popping into my brain that probably is invading every fic I do... If suggestive themes and graphic details bother you, don't read this.

Rating: NC-17 and beyond

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and don't claim to.  
Archiving:?  
Author: Uriel Falcon  
Pairing: C/S Eventually, I promise.

THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK!

* * *

We continue the drive in a slightly less talkative manner. I find out a few trivial things that may come in handy later; he enjoys swimming and camping, he loves vegetables and marinated steak. Well, I guess I'm going to have to re-learn the art of cooking steak. Shouldn't be too hard; I used to cook it all the time, even if it was just for me. And since he's on summer break, it'll be easy to take him out to Lake Mead. 

"Hey Dad…. You don't mind me calling you Dad, right?" Good question. Do I? I mean, technically a Dad is around more. They typically are there to build projects, teach sports, and go to football games and whatnot. I've never been there for anything other than the first three Christmases and birthdays. What am I?

"I don't have a problem with it at all. It's just… Well, aren't Dads supposed to be there for their kids? Because I really haven't been there for you…" I might as well face the big elephant in the corner while I'm still in the comfort of my car. Raphael seems perplexed for a moment before obviously figuring something out in that intelligent brain mass of his.

"But you have been there for me." What?

"What?" Oh, very eloquent, Sidle. Raphael grins at me before pulling a necklace out from under the collar of his shirt. When he brings it into the light, I'm floored.

My dog tags hang from the rusted iron chain; there are two plates that were broken apart. One has my name, number and squad code; Sara T. Sidle, A-285719, A-285. The other has my position in the squad. Sergeant Sidle, BO-285, 19th sector, 1990-. They never got the chance to fill in the date that I stopped serving because they thought I was dead.

"Where did you get those?" Did Celeste give these to him? I thought I threw them out just after I got home the second time. In fact, I remember throwing them out the window and saying I never wanted to see them again. I can almost picture the blood still on them, caked under dirt and grime, my own reflection distorted into the monster I feel I am. I'm a beast with horns and vicious teeth that does nothing but gnaw and chomp away at humanity.

"Mom brought them out when she was telling me about you. She said that you fought to support us and that you were hurt really badly. She showed me pictures of you holding me and of all of us at Christmas time and at my birthday." Celeste actually showed him pictures of me?

"When I was eight, Mom started talking about you more. How I'd love you when we met and how we'd be able to catch up quickly. I didn't know how right she was until now. I always felt really close to you when I wore these; it feels like you've been there all along, still fighting for us. So I think you deserve the title of Dad." My heart feels like it's beating again. That was the most sincere thing anyone has ever said to me.

"Wow… I never thought you'd think of it in that way… Thanks. I also never expected your mom to speak so highly of me," I reply, trying to regain a little bit of balance. I've been knocked for quite a loop. Raphael laughs for a moment before turning to say something again.

"Yeah, well she also said that she still wanted to jump on your back and beat you for your stubbornness." Oh for frig' sakes… I crack a grin and turn another corner; speeding down a stretch of road that I know doesn't have cameras or waiting cops is always fun. In a few moments, we'll be home.

"So, where do you live?" Raphael asks, looking up at the tall buildings of Vegas. I live quite far from the office; I like my space, as I've mentioned before.

"I live sort of on the outskirts of the inner city in an apartment building. The outside of the building isn't looking too pretty, but the inside of my place is nice. I customize almost everything in my life. Speaking of which, do you want to paint your room any particular way? I've got a semi-full bookshelf installed beside a dresser and a desk…" I think I'm rambling.

"Dad, relax, you're rambling. That sounds great, but I think food is in order first." Frig, this kid read my mind. Speaking of food, I am hungry.

"You like omelettes?" I ask before pulling into the parking lot of my Venice street apartment. Raphael grins.

"I love omelettes," he replies while scooting around the car towards the trunk. I pop it open and take his duffle bags, handing him his backpack before slamming the trunk and locking my baby up. Unlike the way the apartment looks, the area is actually very law-abiding.

I'm actually on the community service committee; we help repaint the buildings and make sure that the people with harder lives have good holidays and are well fed while they try to get back on their feet. And it does work; I've never seen a person I've helped in the station or on the autopsy slab.

"So which floor do you live on?" Oh, that's a fairly easy question. I hope he's got a good amount of stamina.

"I live on the fifth floor, but the elevator is always broken. I end up having to carry Mrs. Verana up when I come home from my shift; she's got a horrible hip and needs to use a wheelchair. Since I'm home early I might go and try to fix the elevator with our maintenance crew. But first, omelettes." Raphael gives me a strange look.

"Wait, you CARRY Mrs. Verana up five floors?" Oh, I bet he thinks she's heavy. I laugh for a moment as we walk.

"Scrat, Mrs. Verana is eighty-five years old and weighs no more than ninety pounds soaking wet and holding the bucket. The only trouble is that when I carry her up, I have to tie her wheelchair to my arse and drag it up with me," I say laughing as Raphael's eyes pop open.

"The whole way? Wow, you're as strong as Mom said you are!" Woah, another shocker. I didn't realize that she talked about me so much. Hell, maybe she missed me. Hmm, nah, I don't think she missed me. Maybe was thinking of me at an odd time.

"I didn't realize your Mom talked about me…" I say quietly as I open up the main door. We continue towards the broken elevator and up the first set of stairs.

"Yeah, she talks about you a lot. I think she misses you," Raphael reasons, clunking up the stairs beside me. I'm almost touched that she might miss me, but I can't say the feelings are mutual. I missed her for a few months before realizing that she abandoned me and hurt me like I was nothing but a bug on a street waiting to be crushed.

"We're almost there," I say distractedly as we reach the fourth floor. It's hard to keep up a solid, pleasant conversation about Celeste. The good memories I have seem to become dark as I think of them. When we finally reach the fifth floor, I count the doors as we walk down the hallway. The carpet is a musty grey while the crème paint on the wall is chipping off. When I reach good old number 89, I unlock the door and allow my son in first.

I think he likes the place, judging by the grin on his face. Since Grissom's visit, I've redecorated. The walls are painted in a chessboard pattern; I love chess and I absolutely ADORE my egg-carton walls.

My wretched Ikea coffee table sits in between my dark red leather couch and my large entertainment unit, including a flat screen television, four huge speakers, a subwoofer, a DVD player, a playstation 2, and an old VCR. I also have wires going from the extra CD player in the corner to four speakers in the top corners of my living room.

On my corner desk lays a silver laptop, and beside the desk stands an enormous bookcase stuffed with a range of knowledge, including some of my old university books and novels.

Down the hallway are the two bedrooms and one laundry room. My room is fairly simple; one big bed, a dresser, a closet, a nightstand and a shelf in the corner filled with assorted projects. Sofia and I often get together and plan out some custom designs; she works with the Las Vegas gallery as a side job.

I take Raphael's duffle bags to his room; it's decorated with a blue motif and already has the beginnings of a well-rounded teen's room. Raphael is busy looking at everything, obviously finding my guitar quite fascinating. Which is pretty standard; having a Gibson Les Paul with the Zakk Wylde paint scheme is awesome. I got Sofia to paint it for me; that woman has a gift when it comes to art.

Maybe this won't be so bad. I think he likes the place, and it has enough entertainment to last while getting settled in.

And then the phone rings. I check the caller ID and I sigh.

Ah frig, it's Catherine.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**What You'll Never Know**

**WARNING:  
WARNING:  
WARNING:**

**DARK. REALLY DARK. It will lighten up a little bit later, but I really doubt it. I started this about three months ago, a little idea popping into my brain that probably is invading every fic I do... If suggestive themes and graphic details bother you, don't read this.**

**Rating: NC-17 and beyond**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and don't claim to.  
Archiving:?  
Author: Uriel Falcon  
Pairing: C/S Eventually, I promise.**

**THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK!

* * *

**

Should I really be answering her call? I mean, there are so many possibilities of what she wants. She could be calling to chew my ass out for leaving so abruptly. She could want to talk about why I've never chosen to expose my past life or why I hate domestic abuse and have a wide range of knowledge about it. Or maybe she just wants me to come back to work. Too bad, can't swing that. I pick up the receiver and prepared to get blasted.

"Sidle house," I answer, almost choking on my own false sweetness. Raphael chuckles in the background, obviously knowing that I'm being an asshole without even trying.

"Cut the crap, Sara. I know you don't really want to talk to me, but that's too bad because we're going to have a talk whether you like it or not!" I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it as if it just said it wanted to have babies with a chicken. Then I get a devious idea.

"Hi Catherine, how are you? I'm doing fine; it was very nice of you to ask!" Wow, I am such an asshole. I bet she's fuming on the other end, waiting to rip into me with her perfectly manicured hands attached to those beautiful arms which in turn lead the eyes to her lovely face and I think I have to stop rambling again. The temperature just shot up a few degrees. I hear a sigh from the other end of the line.

"Listen, Sara, I'm sorry for being short, but we really need to talk. I'll be there in a few minutes. Number 89, right?" Has she been stalking me? Because I don't remember her knowing where I lived… Ah well, at least if she comes here I can kick her out if necessary.

"Yeah, on Venice street. I warn you though; the elevator is busted. Which reminds me, I better go get Mrs. Verana," I say, mumbling a quick goodbye afterwards and hanging up the phone.

"Hey Raphael, could you come with me for a bit? I have to go grab Mrs. Verana from downstairs before she tries to make it up herself." Raphael jumps up from the couch and grabs his shoes. I think he likes helping; community service will be a blast for him if that's the case.

After clunking down the stairs, I spot Mrs. Verana staring at the elevator with a very pissed off look on her face. It goes well with her bright blue fuzzy hate and her very large glasses.

"Sorry about the elevator, Mrs. Verana. A trip to the top as usual?" I joke, walking towards her and kneeling down. Mrs. Verana grins a toothy smile before easily leaning into my arms, letting me pick her up gingerly. This woman seriously has to gain some weight. I turn to tell Raphael to fold up her wheelchair and bring it up, but he's already done it.

"Thanks Scrat," I say before beginning my way up the stairs. I can hear him following my steps in tune.

"So, is this your boy, Sara?" Mrs. Verana asks. I smile and nod, feeling a bit of pride that I helped create this amazing kid.

"Yeah, his name is Raphael, but I call him Scrat most of the time," I reply, glancing back at my son. He flashes me a gap-toothed grin as we continue to walk up the stairs. Soon enough, we arrive at the fourth floor, on which I place Mrs. Verana into her chair and bid her a good day. Before long, we're back in my apartment cooking up omelettes.

"So I guess one of your co-workers is coming over?" Raphael asks, leaning against the bar counter. I nod and continue cooking, almost grinning. Catherine is going to get a hell of a kick out of my place. I always picture her with a perfect home; clean, tidy, and with a great deal of personal touches. My place is exactly like me; looks shitty on the outside, and insane on the inside.

"Let me guess; she's stunned and probably ticked off." Yup, that about sums it up. Before I can answer fully, I hear a knock at the door. Well crap. I put his omelette on a plate before turning off the stove and tossing the pan in the sink. By the time I've finished up my five second routine, Raphael is opening the door.

"Hello, how may I help you?" Oh wow, he's almost as much of an asshole as I am! That's my boy! I walk up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder, letting him step back so I can see Catherine. She looks calm, but I can see the fire in her eyes. She's absolutely livid.

"Hi Catherine, come on in, we're just about to eat some omelettes," I say as I turn away and grab my plate, sitting on the stool beside Raphael and beginning to dig into my omelette. I can hear Catherine taking off her shoes and closing the door, probably slightly confused that I'm being tolerable. She takes a seat across from us at the bar, putting her Starbucks coffee down in front of her.

"So, what seems to be the trouble?" I ask calmly, shoveling another fork full of fluffy omelette into my mouth. I take a glance beside me and notice that Raphael is wolfing down his food in the same manner.

"Well, I was hoping to speak to you about a few things…" she trails off. Eww, talking. I don't really like talking; I work better when I'm grunting monosyllables. And I think she would like it better to; less snapping then.

"Ask away," I reply, happy that I haven't decided to kick her out yet.

"Well, I'd like to know a bit about your son. I don't remember you ever mentioning anything before," she asks, trying to be tact considering the subject of our conversation is sitting right beside me. I almost grin; if this is going to be uncomfortable for me, it's definitely going to be uncomfortable for her.

"Okay, sure. Let's see if we can sum this up in an easier way, eh Scrat?" I turn to my son, who looks up and slurps a little fluff of omelette back into his mouth before grinning at me.

"Sure Dad, that sounds like a good idea. Where do we start?" I see Catherine's eyebrow twitch slightly. She must be as startled about the Dad thing as I was. I turn to Catherine and rest my chin in my hand.

"Well, okay, here goes nothing… When I was 17, I met a beautiful woman named Celeste. I finished up all my courses early and started university when I was eighteen. Using gestational surrogacy, at the age of nineteen, Celeste got pregnant with my son, who is now sitting right here," I pause to look at my son. Raphael's eyes remind me of Celeste so much that I become enraptured with all that depth. I look back to Catherine and continue.

"Because she had Raphael, she didn't have enough money to go to a school for chiropractors. So, I went to war to earn some quick cash, thinking that the idea of protecting my country was romantic and worthy. Believe me, never think that. Anyhow, I came home and saw my son for the first time. Imagine the joy for a minute. I hadn't earned enough money, so I went back to war for another two years. I came back and it was okay for a little while. Eventually, I had to leave. I wasn't exactly the best person around," I make a little white lie, hoping to make his mother look slightly better.

"So, I left for San Francisco after making sure Celeste got the house. As you know, I was called to Vegas. I've been here for what, seven years? I left when he was two and a half, so I guess it's been more than ten years since I last saw him. Celeste showed up today and gave me some summer privileges," I avoid again, making sure that she looks great in my son's eyes. But I can already see that Catherine knows I'm lying. That woman has a sixth sense.

"So you guys JUST met today?" Catherine asks with a semi stunned look on her face. We both shrug and nod. She runs a hand through her hair before smiling slightly.

"That's a pretty strong bond you two have. I mean, the resemblance is amazing," she states, taking a big sip of her coffee. Raphael grabs our plates and puts them in the wonder that is the dishwasher before sitting back down in the exact same manner as I do.

"Mom always talked about Dad and showed me a lot of pictures and old video tapes, so this summer I asked if I could meet her. Mom said it was okay, so we drove up here and came right to the lab. I already know that I have the best Dad ever. I mean, who gets a Dad who helps put bad people away, fights for our country _and_ plays guitar?" Oh frig, I'm blushing. Damn this kid and his knack for phrases!

"Well, I must say, your Dad is a great person. So I suppose you haven't met anyone here, have you?" Catherine asks, now focusing on my son. Geez, if I get any redder I might resemble a tomato. Raphael shrugs.

"I met Jacqui, but I suppose you mean kids my age… No, not yet, but then again, I've only been here for a couple of hours," Raphael laughs out, his great big smile showing the gap again. Catherine smiles her people person smile.

"My daughter, Lindsey, just turned fifteen. Maybe she could help show you around," Catherine pulls out her wallet and flips open a little flap, showing a picture of Lindsey. I feel a slight pin prick in my heart; she's starting to look more like her father, whom I'm responsible for not finding the killer of.

"That'd be cool, she looks nice. Does she dance?" I think my son has a gift. Catherine looks as shocked as I do.

"Yeah, she dances jazz. How'd you guess?" she asks, giving me a flash of a confused look.

"That sweater she's wearing has a little pin on the side near the collar. One of my friends back home has a bunch of those pins for every year that she goes to a competition." I guess looks isn't the only thing he inherited from me. It seems that he's got my observing eye. It comes in handy for the job and for when you're looking out for someone who might just decide to shoot you.

"Good eye," I say calmly, standing up and stretching before walking towards my stupid Ikea coffee table. In one movement, I clear the damn thing off and fold the fucking thing up, putting it near the door. Raphael raises and eyebrow as I walk off into my room, grabbing my actual oak coffee table and lifting it over my shoulders before walking it back into the living room. I catch a glance at Catherine; she's amazed. I put the table down and rearrange my things on it before flopping down on my couch.

"Table's ready, come have a seat."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**What You'll Never Know**

WARNING:  
WARNING:  
WARNING:

DARK. REALLY DARK. It will lighten up a little bit later, but I really doubt it. I started this about three months ago, a little idea popping into my brain that probably is invading every fic I do... If suggestive themes and graphic details bother you, don't read this.

Rating: NC-17 and beyond

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and don't claim to.  
Archiving?  
Author: Uriel Falcon  
Pairing: C/S Eventually, I promise.

THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK!

* * *

I wait patiently as Raphael and Catherine slowly get up and walk towards the couch. Raphael plops down beside me while Catherine sits down on the chair to the right of the table, slightly across from the couch. She sips at her coffee before placing it down again. I yawn before stretching out and reaching for my alarm clock.

Okay, so not everyone keeps an alarm clock in their living room, but I do. Half the time I end up sleeping on the couch, so I figured why not have all the fixings of a bedroom?

"So, how did the meeting go after I left?" I ask tentatively. I don't really want to know, but the silence is getting me and cable sucks. Catherine makes a face that sort of resembles the one you have after you suckle on a lemon.

"Not so good… Ecklie continued to trash talk you, saying a load of crap about incompetence and what not. It turned into a screaming match, him against Warrick, Greg, Nick and I. Grissom was fairly quiet; but for good reason.

"The sheriff was standing right at the doorway and we didn't even notice. Ecklie said something about having you fired for 'influencing' our case. The sheriff heard and was all over it, wanting to join in. Grissom stood up and told the sheriff to, and I quote this, 'Eat the pungent adhesive off of the bottom of Ecklie's ass, go commit adultery against your bitch by fornicating with a goat and disappear by any means necessary'. Needless to say, it got quiet FAST," Catherine explains. My jaw hits the ground and I burst into laughter, holding my ribs tightly. Grissom may be completely out of tune with the world, but his insults have always cracked me up.

"What happened after that?" I ask as I wipe tears out of my eyes. Catherine shrugged.

"I don't know; I was too busy rolling on the floor clutching my ribs to hear anything else," Oh geez… I look to my son and find his eyebrow in his hairline.

"Who's Ecklie?" he asks with the innocence only a child can have. I snort and grab a coffee, taking a swig before putting it down again.

"A horrible, disgusting THING who always wants me either fired or suspended for little mistakes or opinions… He doesn't like me very much… Seems I'm an asshole," I respond, stretching out my limbs. Catherine grabs her coffee, which I realize now that I took a large swig of, and finishes it off.

"Well, I guess I should let you two get settled in…" she mumbles, making to stand up. Raphael has a look on his face that appears to have some thought to it.

"Hey, how about we all go get some ice cream or something? We could get Lindsey," he suggests. As much as I'd love to spend time with Catherine, I think she'd end up bitching me out…

"That sounds great; I have to pick her up soon anyway. Should we take my car or yours?" Hmm, let's think about that for a minute… Not.

"We'll take mine; easier traffic maneuvering," I rationalize, although the real reason is that my car is way sexier.

"Sure, okay. Do you know where her dance school is?" Catherine asks as I stand up and grab my keys from the top of my kitchen counter. Raphael puts his runners on while Catherine clicks on her heels.

I admit that I noticed what she was wearing before, but the second she bent over to adjust her heels I nearly fell over. A tight black skirt just below the knees with the hottest set of calves I've ever seen lead up to a v-neck white blouse and the most beautiful set of blue eyes I've ever seen.

Oh shit, I think I just got caught staring. What do I do?

"Uh…Hi…" I'm a dumbass.

"Hi." Fuck, she caught me.

"Hey Dad, how fast does your car go?" I love my son and his ability to save me.

"Oh, around, two hundred and twenty miles per hour," I reply, standing up after lacing my boots. We exit my apartment and I lock the door, hoping to regain my equilibrium after my eyes decided to screw me over. I can't blame them though; she's beautiful. Raphael bounds down the stairs and I thud down behind him, keeping up a fairly good pace. I feel sorry for Catherine; heels are not good in this place.

As my feet hit the main floor, I turn to see Catherine coming down behind me. How she handles her heels, I have no idea, but I'm sure it's a feminine trick that is mastered by mothers. Of course, I'll never know how to do that; even if mine had wanted to teach me, there would have been no point. I'm a soldier, not a mother.

I think Catherine must have noticed my mood change because she's giving me that sympathy look again. I hope she's not a mind reader. I smile softly and turn to show her to my car.

Raphael continues to leap ahead, practically bounced up and down beside the car. I laugh and unlock the doors, opening the passenger's side for Catherine. She's fairly entranced by my baby, too. When she steps in, I'm at a good angle to catch a flash of blue panties. Oh lord, I'm going over!

I close her door quickly and scoot over to the other side, hoping that I haven't gone red.

I peel out of the parking lot, whipping down the unmonitored street. Catherine has a little smile on her face; fast cars always get the babes. As I turn onto the main street, I slide around a corner, earning a squeal from my passengers. I slow down and begin to abide the law, although I really don't want to.

"So, what street again?" I ask slowly, my hand resting calmly on the stick shift. Catherine giggles.

"Well, since you're not staring now… Vaile Street." Oh, what a tease!

"Sorry, couldn't help it." SHUT UP SIDLE. Damnit, I just admitted to staring. She giggles before turning to look out the window. I click on the radio and tune it to my favorite station before turning it up slightly, rolling down my window and resting my elbow there. The breeze is good and I love the song playing. I think it's called 'What have you done' by Within Temptation.

Soon enough, I spot the school after making a few turns. There's a perfect parking space right out front, but there's a stupid SUV attempting to take it. I rev the engine and slide into the spot after doing an almost 180 degree turn.

"Holy shit," Catherine mumbles, holding onto the side of the door in a death grip.

"Sorry, but he was going to take our spot," I reply as the SUV drives away to another side. Raphael laughs from the back as Catherine shakes her head and opens the door, standing up and leaning against my car. I see Lindsey walk out of the studio with a few of her friends. When she spots her mother, she raises an eyebrow and waves her friends goodbye.

I can't hear what they're talking about, but I think Lindsey is to say the least confused at my car. Oh right, I forgot, tinted windows. Catherine opens her door before sitting down and buckling up. Lindsey gets into the back and is visibly relieved when she sees Raphael and I. I wonder why…

"Nice car, Sara!" Lindsey exclaims, buckling in. I watch as she notices Raphael and smiles. I turn my attention away and let them talk, pulling out of the lot. I check both ways before peeling down an unmonitored street, sliding around a corner into another alley. We whip down the back alleys before I take my time in slowing down and entering another speed limit zone.

"Sara, you are one crazy driver," Catherine mumbles, adjusting in her seat. I shrug and laugh, driving towards the place I know serves the best ice cream in all of Vegas. Parking in the shade, we unload and head towards the ice cream parlor.

"What can I say? When you work so hard on something for a set amount of time, you just have to break the rules," I rationalize again, stepping up and opening the door to the parlor. The ladies and my son step through before I follow. They place their orders and I throw in mine; triple chocolate brownie mountain, WITH sprinkles. Before Catherine gets a chance to pull out her wallet, I pay for us all and grab my brownie mountain.

"Hey, I was going to pay you know," Catherine complains, catching up to me with her Tiger double scoop cone. What I wouldn't do to be that scoop…

"So?" I reply, laughing and taking a good spoonful of my favorite treat. My blonde companion shakes her head before nursing her cone, and I swear I nearly fall over. One flash of a tongue and I'm experiencing a hot flash. Damn you, Willows. I look over to my son to see him and Lindsey laughing over something, seating themselves at a park bench. I turn to Catherine and catch her staring.

Please tell me I don't have something on my face. I stare directly into her eyes, hoping to catch a reflection of what she's looking at. I try to not react like I'm burned when I see that one of my scars is visible. VERY VISIBLE. It's the one where I got a bayonet jabbed directly through the tissue between my shoulder and my collar bone. The scar is still fairly large and slightly pink; I have no idea how I didn't realize that this shirt shows it.

"That looks like it hurt," she says softly, reaching out and running her fingers over it. I feel my eyes closing and relishing the touch. Scars are sensitive, and sometimes they itch or feel like they're opening. I can't stop myself from enjoying her fingers running over the edges, or her warm body heat getting closer to mine. Wait, closer? Oh, what the hell. I can't care right now; I'm nearly falling asleep standing up. If I don't open my eyes, maybe she won't go away. Against my own will, my eyes open to see the expression on her face. She hasn't lifted her eyes from my wound, her face in deep concentration as she attempts to figure out what it looks like.

"Our ice cream is melting," I say dumbly. Catherine laughs sweetly before brushing her palm against my shoulder, taking a lick of her cone.

"Sorry about that, I just suddenly had the urge to touch it. What caused that? It sort of looks new," Catherine asks, sitting down at a bench on the other side of the tree that divides us from our children. Subconsciously I brush it with my fingers, remembering the event vividly.

"_Sergeant, look out!" I turn from patching up Ulrich's arm to see a man raise his bayonet and stab for my head. I move to the side and feel his blade sneak past my padded vest that was supposed to act like armour and into my shoulder, causing me to cry out. I knock the gun away, breaking the blade off from the tip of the weapon._

_It's a fairly heavy weapon for such a lanky soldier. I fight wildly with him for a few moments, using my fists as heavy rocks. I lose myself in the ebb and flow of battle, seeing more soldiers ahead._

_I don't care that they are in as bad a condition as us, and I don't care that we shouldn't be here or that this war has nothing to do with us. I don't care that this war is not really a war but a mistake. My only thought is to defend my squad, my team, my family. _

_And without even realizing it, I kill again. _

"It's sort of a long story," I reply, thinking of how I could say this easily. "I was in the military when it happened. It looks worse than it really is. The blade sort of broke off, and when we pulled it out it started clotting almost immediately. Even though it's still sort of pink, it's over ten years old," I finally explain, fairly certain that it would suffice her curiosity. I'm wrong.

"Blade broke off? You were stabbed?" She asks, starting to crunch on her cone. I shrug as if it was an everyday occurrence.

"It was a bayonet. The blades are flimsy, so it really wasn't that big of a deal. My friend Ulrich had a severed artery in his arm; I was helping our medic, Michael, patch it up when we were ambushed." I stop and take a few good spoonfuls of my ice cream, hoping to put some distance from the past. She knows I'm avoiding answering.

"What happened then?" She asks in a low tone. I remember the fight again, and almost shudder at my own brutality.

"I dealt with the ambush while Michael patched Ulrich's arm up." Again, another short answer. I hear a rustling and look up, spotting Raphael and Lindsey climbing up the tree and attempting to covertly steal Catherine's purse, which contained Lindsey's confiscated cell phone.

"We've been spotted. What should we do?" I hear Raphael ask. Lindsey shrugs.

"Abort." They laugh as they jump down. I shake my head and chuckle; Raphael sure is persuasive if he got the teenage Lindsey to climb a tree. Catherine raises her eyebrow and finishes her cone. I do away with my ice cream in a few minutes, happily cleaning out the bowl. When I look up, Catherine is giggling at me. If it wasn't the most beautiful sound I've heard in a long time, I think I'd be mad.

"Lemme guess, I have chocolate all over my face?" I ask, figuring that was the case. Catherine leans in and my breath hitches quietly, feeling that warm gaze again. She cups my chin with her soft hand and rubs the side of my mouth with the thumb, all the while still giggling.

"Nope, just at the cutest corner." I think my head just exploded from all the blood rushing to it. I shrug and toss out my paper bowl before sneak attacking my son, lifting him right over my shoulder. He laughs before I drop him on his feet.

"Ready to go, kid?" I ask. He smiles.

"Sure, but I have to stop at the flower shop first," he replies. Why would he need to stop there?

"Sure… but why?" I ask, heading towards the car with the ladies. Raphael smiles.

"Because I have a date." Oh frig, he's quicker than I am! Wait, how does this work… If two parents are dating and their kids are dating, does that work out as incest or…? ARGH screw it I don't know the answer and I'm not even dating Catherine.

But I really want to.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**What You'll Never Know**

WARNING:  
WARNING:  
WARNING:

DARK. REALLY DARK. It will lighten up a little bit later, but I really doubt it. I started this about three months ago, a little idea popping into my brain that probably is invading every fic I do... If suggestive themes and graphic details bother you, don't read this.

Rating: NC-17 and beyond

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and don't claim to.  
Archiving?  
Author: Uriel Falcon  
Pairing: C/S Eventually, I promise.

THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK!

* * *

I awaken from a vivid dream in a start, hoping that I haven't screamed. The television is on mute, playing something about the migration habits of birds. Why do I even bother sleeping, there really is no point to it. I just end up reliving my past in full colour. I check Raphael's room to make sure he's still sleeping soundly. I smile when I find him snoring, so I shut the door quietly and head back towards the couch.

I remember the exact expression on the face of each and every person I've killed and it makes me sick. When I sleep, there's no controlling what happens to me. I simply dream, or have a nightmare and watch as the world slips away. I hate the thought of losing control again, like I used to when I was stupid. I lay down on the couch before shutting off the television, squinting as it flashes off.

The day with Catherine actually wasn't too bad. After the park, we let Raphael and Lindsey roam her neighborhood while we sat down and had coffee. I didn't learn anything I didn't already pick up, but I think she was happy that I was at least making an effort to be nice. It came easier than I thought it would. Her favorite colour is forest green, her favorite movie of the moment is Hannibal Rising because it actually gave her the willies, she wears blue because it looks good on her and she hates the guy Lindsey was crushing on before. I guess it's better that Raphael came along, apparently the guy was a real sleezeball, the sort of guy I'd probably kick the shit out of for no reason OTHER than that he was a sleezeball.

After we left, I hit a couple stores. I bought groceries, new clothes for Raphael, and a couple awesome new paintbrushes for Sofia. What can I say, when I see talent, I make sure it can flourish. She's working on a piece for a cancer research foundation. She's donating it so it can be auctioned off for charity cash. I'll drop the brushes by tomorrow.

I yawn and stretch a bit before resting my head back on the pillow. My alarm is set, the dishes are done and the door is locked, so therefore, sleep is imminent. I close my eyes and the last thing I envision is Catherine.

* * *

I'm awakened by the shrill screaming of my alarm clock a few hours after I finally laid my eyes to rest. Slapping my hand on the snooze button, I groan at the light and shove a pillow over my face. I do this every morning; who wants to get up to go to work on a friggin' SATURDAY?!

I sigh and finally get up after five minutes, fully disabling the alarm and stretching. I hear a couple joints crack, a sure sign that I'm finally starting to age. Lovely, just lovely. I get up and check on Raphael; he's still sleeping, which is good because that means I can have a shower without worrying about him needing to pee or something.

As I step under a rush of hot water, I try not to look at myself. Yeah, I know it's pretty hard considering I'm very naked, but I try not to anyway. Every time I do, I get a reminder that I really shouldn't be alive. Subconsciously, I trace my biggest scar with my fingers, hoping that one day it'll get better. I look down and crush my hopes. The scar runs from the side of my right hip, up underneath my belly button and up to my first left rib. I look like a gutted fish. Best reason for one night stands; they don't have to deal with looking at the scars when you're in the dark.

After washing my hair and trying not to think of all the bullet holes in my back, I step out into the steam and dry off, facing away from the mirror. It's sad when you're afraid to look at yourself. I dress for the day; dark black jeans, slightly old I'll admit, and a blue t-shirt with flames across the front.

I'm starting to look like Greg and it's scaring me. Of course, I say that with all possible good meaning of the phrase, but it still scares me. I hang out with Sofia WAY TOO MUCH. I've picked up Greg's fashion sense, Sofia's random art supply buying spurts and both of their speech patterns. Just the other day I caught myself saying 'Stoked', which is Greg's, and 'Oh Bother', which is Sofia's. Damn them.

I step out of the bathroom, a little fresher, and start on breakfast. Pancakes, I do declare, will start the morning off good. I'm surprised I'm even up in the morning; I don't have to go back to work until 6. That is, if I still have a job. Raphael wanders into the kitchen, shooting me a grin before wobbling over to the bar, sitting on a stool and yawning.

"Good sleep?" I ask while making batter. Raphael nods and stretches.

"Yeah, pretty good. That bed is really comfy; it's so peaceful in there. I guess that's because of the egg cartons, eh?" I nod after shooting him a grin, continuing to make pancakes. A knock on the door confuses me.

"Hey Raphael, could you check the peephole to see who that is? It's sort of early for anyone to be knocking," I ask, wondering who the hell would be up this early. I swear if it's one of those witnesses, I'll show them the meaning of 'witness'!

"Dad, some lady with blonde hair, high cheekbones and blue eyes in a cop uniform is at the door. Should I let them in?" Sofia? Why the hell is Sofia here this…? Oh wait, she was working graveyard. Maybe it was a bad case.

"Yeah, that's my friend, Sofia. You can let her in." Raphael opens the door and greets Sofia in his usual cheery manner. I hear Sofia greet him back, and although she's chipper, I can hear the burden in her voice.

"Hey Sof," I call out, starting the first batch of pancakes. Sofia steps in and chuckles, taking off her runners.

"I have such good timing. I get off of work and get fed right away! Geez, it's like your telepathic or something," she jokes, seating herself at the bar beside Raphael. I give her one of my arrogant smirks.

"Well, you know me, perfect genius, perfect cook, everyone's favorite." I look up and see Sofia laugh, stretching and undoing the cuffs of her sleeves. She looks incredibly tired; I'll ask her about it soon. I can tell she's had a rough shift; her blouse is slightly askew and the friendship necklace I got her a while back is backwards. Yes, that's right; I got her a friendship necklace. Cheesy, I know.

"You do make good pancakes," she mumbles, leaning on her forearms. Yup, food and then a nap for Sofia Curtis.

"Sofia, this is my son, Raphael. Scrat, this is my best friend, Sofia Curtis." Sofia turns to my son and grins, shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you, kiddo. I'll probably be around here… A LOT…." My blonde friend laughs, turning to me with bright eyes. I grin and serve up the pancakes, laughing as Sofia digs right in, forgetting to put any extras on. Raphael raises his eyebrow and laughs.

"You forgot to put syrup on!" Sofia looks up before mumbling something through her food, still shoveling away. I set work on making more batter.

"Jesus, Sof, why do you always eat me out of house and home?" Sofia simply shrugs her shoulders and continues eating. I've never seen anyone eat that fast since my military days; she eats like someone is going to take it away from her. I'm afraid if I reach my hand in she's going to bite me. I serve up another batch on a plate and reach for my own, only to discover my best friend shoveling MY pancakes down.

"SOFIA!!" I grab her by the ears and wiggle her them, earning a complaining noise.

"Lemme go!" She whines, grabbing my ears. I make a sound that sort of resembles ARGH and wiggle her ears more. I can faintly hear Raphael's laughing over our whiny yells. We both let go at the same time, rubbing our ears daintily.

"Those were mine, asshole!" I complain, throwing a random dishtowel at Sofia. She raises a slim blonde eyebrow at me before cracking a grin.

"So? They were available." Ass.

"Ass." I'm really not good at this eloquence thing. Sofia looks at me for a moment before laughing.

"That word was exactly what you were thinking, wasn't it?" I give her a very stern look before giving up and nodded. She bellows in laughter before grabbing her plate and heading to the dishwasher.

"I know you all too well, Sar." I have to agree with that, she knows me fairly well. I'm almost ready to let her read my war journals. It was the one thing that kept me sane; a steady flow of words expressing what was going on in no lapse of detail. I'd be proud of them if they weren't so disgustingly graphic. I'm brought out of my thoughts by Raphael's laughing. Sofia's got a spry side to her, and her humour is often dry like mine. I finish off my own pancakes and load the dishwasher before joining them on my bed, err, couch.

"Hey Dad, can I play one of your games?" I nod and let Raphael set himself up. Turning to Sofia, I notice her energy quickly slipping away.

"You wanna talk about it?" I ask. The way to get Sofia to open up is to be tact; don't fuss, but don't ignore. I listen as she sighs.

"Bad case," she says cryptically. I've always had trouble deciphering this side of my friend. She only gets like this when a case is terrible or if an officer died. Since she said 'bad case' I have to try and guess what kind. Knowing Sofia, it's some sort of teen violence case. Her teen years weren't exactly the best. Losing her father was something hard for her to deal with, especially considering it was a fire caused by a drunken teenager at a house party next door.

"You wanna take a nap?" I ask, rolling my head to face her. She smiles and closes her eyes.

"Yeah. You don't mind, do you?" I shake my head and grab my pillow, leaning back on the couch. My friend lays her head down on my stomach and I feel her drift off almost instantly. I close my eyes and listen to the game, feeling myself joining her in the world of sleep.

* * *

The phone's ringing. Dammit. I reach over and grab the accursed thing, all but smashing it on.

"Sidle," I snarl out, just wanting to go back to sleep.

"I'm sorry to bother you Sara. It's Celeste." Ah shit, what now?

"What's up?" I attempt to be slightly more hospitable, even to the one who crushed my heart. I hear a sigh.

"I just… I wanted to hear how things are going." Why? And what time is it… Well, Sofia is still sleeping and Raphael is still playing, so I'm assuming I've only been asleep for a little while. Must be around 10.

"Fine, actually. Hit it off really well," I answer, adjusting slightly. My friend curls closer, snoring ever so slightly.

"That's good… Um, can I talk to him?" I almost laugh at her nervous demeanor. She was so strong when I was with her, and now she's almost shriveling at the sound of my voice. I guess I do that to people.

"Raphael, your mom's on the phone." I hand the phone to my son before throwing my free arm over my face.

"A thirteen year old boy took his dad's gun and shot his best friend in the face because his friend was 'stealing' his girlfriend." I hear Sofia's weak voice and I immediately snap into comfort mode.

"Jealousy kills," I reply. She looks up and smiles.

"Thanks Sar." Such a simple phrase, but I know it means so much more.

"Anytime." If only I could be this way with Catherine. It'd be nice to be there for her on those bad cases. Last time I tried though, she shot me down. Maybe I just have to learn how to deal with her… I'll give it a shot. And Sofia's going to help me, whether she knows it yet or not. She's already saved me once or twice from doing something stupid.

TBC


End file.
